


Employment Opportunities

by Rasalahuge



Series: Deus ex Mycroft [11]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Supernatural
Genre: Angels, Crack Treated Seriously, Gen, Temporary Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-17
Updated: 2015-07-17
Packaged: 2018-04-09 20:46:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4363592
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rasalahuge/pseuds/Rasalahuge
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John probably shouldn’t take job offers while mostly-dead, but then if he didn’t he’d be <em>actually</em> dead so there are some advantages.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Employment Opportunities

**Author's Note:**

> So I lied. There is in fact another story in this series. I wanted to do something with the Sherlock characters but they refused to cooperate until I shot John. Not as happy with this one as I am with the others - I'm not sure I've got John's character right (I'm pretty sure there should be some shouting in there somewhere) but I'm posting it anyway. Enjoy.

  


  
** Employment Opportunities  
Alternately: Sometimes when God offers you a job you are not in fact hallucinating **

As John Watson died from a gunshot wound for the second time in his life the prayer he made was the same.

_Oh God please let me live._

Only this time when his prayer was answered it was with a slightly more personal touch.

*** 

“Really John,” An unnervingly familiar voice said into the blank whiteness that had overwhelmed John’s vision after he passed out. Or at least he was telling himself he had passed out because the alternative was a slightly less comforting thought. “You must stop doing this, it’s dreadfully inconvenient. There’s a galaxy collapsing just past Andromeda that will cause me no end of issues if it doesn’t get dealt with promptly and yet I’m here, talking to you,”

“Mycroft,” John blinked, “Why am I hearing you during my near-death experience?”

“There’s no near-death about this John,” Mycroft replied calmly appearing next to him with the endless white stretching out in all directions. “You are dead.”

“You’re about to tell me this is Heaven aren’t you?” John glanced at the other man who looked exactly as he always did, tall, intimidating, perfectly tailored and more than slightly creepy.

“Not at all,” Mycroft sniffed making a small humph sound, “You wouldn’t want to go there, I assure you, you’d be bored to, _ahem_ , death inside a week. No call this… a staging area. An empty space between reality, death and nothingness,”

“… Right,” John eyed the man curiously. “You still haven’t explained why you’re here,”

“Because you asked for me, of course,” Mycroft answered, “You should feel honoured; I don’t _do_ personal visits anymore. Tedious, for the most part, and I am a very busy man.”

“I’m pretty sure somewhere in that statement there was something that made sense,” John said, “But while I appreciate you treating me like a Holmes rather than a… how did Sherlock say you put it?... goldfish I don’t, actually have any idea what you just said,” Mycroft looked at him and then huffed a sigh.

“Of course not,” Mycroft said and then leant forward and pressed a finger to John’s head before the doctor could pull back.

“ _Oh God, please let me live_ ,” John’s own voice echoed suddenly through the whiteness and John was left blinking for a moment, foolishly.

“Wait, are you saying you’re God?” He asked the first and most ridiculous thing that sprang to mind. Unfortunately for John’s mental state Mycroft didn’t immediately dismiss this truly preposterous idea and instead smirked at him.

“It’s not a title I use regularly, for obvious reasons,” Mycroft, or apparently God, answered with the slightest of shrugs. The sort of shrug that said, ‘yes I know, I _am_ that awesome but I don’t like admitting it’ and was, in actual fact a complete lie because Mycroft didn’t really do humble.

“Okay so now I know I’m hallucinating, what do you want?” John enquired and Mycroft chuckled.

“If you wish to believe so then I shall allow it for now,” The man said graciously. “What I want John is quite simple. I want you to stop dying.”

“Well I’d love to but I’m only human and dying is sort of part and parcel of that,” John replied deciding to go along with this for now if only for the entertainment value. No doubt Sherlock would find the story amusing whenever John woke up from what he was rapidly assuming was some sort of coma (he remembered being shot and he definitely refused to believe he was dead. Coma seemed like the most likely scenario). Granted Sherlock would also scoff at it and make some ridiculous deduction about religion being the fantasy of stupid people to explain things that could be easily explained by science – or John assumed he would because bizarrely he couldn’t recall Sherlock ever making a comment about religion despite being possibly the most stereotypical advert for atheism.

“Sherlock isn’t an atheist,” Mycroft corrected John’s thought process, because this was some sort of hallucination-dream and Mycroft was uncanny in being able to deduce what John was thinking in real life so why wouldn’t he be able to read John’s mind? “Although, granted, he’s not exactly a theist either. Belief is something of a complex matter when you know something as fact.” Here Mycroft looked slightly smug again. “However to get back to the previous point, you are as you so helpfully pointed out most unfortunately human. And human things tend to end up dying inconveniently.”

“Terribly sorry, when I wake up I’ll get right to work on that pesky mortality problem,” John shot back sarcastically, “I hear that the fountain of youth is a lovely place to visit this time of year,”

“No, no, don’t do that,” Mycroft dismissed with a wave, “Really the fountain of youth is mostly hype, useful in some spells and rituals, yes but eternal youth? Hardly.” The man turned more fully, “No I really must propose a more permanent and reliable solution. I’m going to make you an angel,”

“Wait… what?” John blinked.

“I want to make you an angel,” Mycroft repeated with a sigh, “I suppose it’s too much trouble to ask for you to at least try and keep up with this conversation? You see this is why I avoid getting attached to humans, even the most intelligent ones fail to grasp even a fragment of Creation let alone all of it.” He gestured expansively as he spoke, indicating the whiteness around them. John tried to guess what he referring to but decided to stop attempting to understand a Holmes and go with it.

“Okay you want to make me an angel. Why?” He asked because there was nothing else he could possibly say to that.

“Think of it as an employment opportunity,” Mycroft replied leaning on his umbrella pointedly even though John was fairly sure the man didn’t have it a moment ago, “I am in need of someone to more permanently stand by Sherlock’s side. I’ve been searching for a while and not found anyone suitable until you arrived. My brother needs you John,” Mycroft seemed torn between annoyance and relief at that. As if handing over looking after Sherlock to another permanently was both the best and worst thing that could happen, then again given Mycroft’s controlling tendencies maybe it was.

“For a mostly-immortal being that bounces between being an anthropomorphic personification, a manifestation of metaphysical energy and an actual deity he is surprisingly human.” Mycroft continued digging into the white nothingness they were stood on with the tip of his umbrella which was unnerving given it looked exactly the same as everywhere else and certainly not like solid ground. “He needs human connections; he needs someone to keep him grounded, to not get lost in his own head and who can focus his brilliance so he doesn’t tear his own mind apart. John you keep my brother sane, stable and not destroying himself and taking half the universe with him. You already have the patience of a saint to deal with him; I am just proposing to make that a little more official. It’s a win-win situation. _You_ get to enjoy the benefits of being an angel, which are many I assure you, and _I_ no longer have to worry about Sherlock self-imploding when you die a tragically mortal death,”

For a long moment John stared at Mycroft, unable to bring himself to even splutter at everything wrong with that little speech. There was nothing he _could_ say even if he was physically capable of it. Mycroft waited patiently, clearly under the impression that giving John’s brain a little time to catch up with the conversation would make this whole thing smoother. John disagreed, vehemently.

“Okay, assuming just for a second this is real and not a coma induced hallucination. I’m pretty sure, patience of a saint or not, nothing about me screams ‘angel’.” John said.

“Well not the current human perception of angels,” Mycroft allowed, “But really John angels are, and always have been, soldiers. Well, mostly soldiers, there are a few oddballs in every family.” At this Mycroft wore a startlingly familiar expression, the sort that he wore when Sherlock was being particularly irritating. “They were weapons long before they were anything else. Believe me; you will fit right in,” Something in those sharp grey eyes shone then with a savage glee that set every instinct John had on edge. “In fact I’d go so far as to say you would be a good influence on them. That however will have to wait for a while. There’s no point making you an angel so you can keep an eye on Sherlock for me and then immediately throw you into Heaven’s politics,” As Mycroft said this he reached into a pocket and pulled out a heavy gold pocket watch.

“I hate to rush you John but I really am very busy,” he slipped the watch back into his pocket and focused again on John, “If I am to do this I need your consent,”

“And if I agree?” John asked bemused.

“Consider it much like another job. There will be certain duties and responsibilities, not just with Sherlock, and in return you’ll receive certain benefits. I’ll send someone over to teach you how to control the gifts you will acquire and to explain the basic rules. Sherlock will no doubt sulk for a short time but he’ll get over himself when he realises I’m not going to steal you from under his nose,” Mycroft explained.

This was almost certainly a hallucination, John considered, but if it wasn’t then really it was a good deal. After all how many people got an offer of being made into angels by _God_. Of course it was pointless thinking about that because this was a hallucination. Really he might as well say yes, it would still make a good story later when it turned out to be ridiculous.

Yet looking at Mycroft’s face, at his utterly certain expression and the weight in his grey eyes speaking of something ancient and unfathomable John couldn’t help but, for one brief second, believe. He’d been raised by an Anglican family but had slipped mostly into the category of ‘I just don’t get it’, not quite atheist but not exactly preaching the Good News. In that moment however he felt closer to real faith than he ever had in his life.

It figured, he told himself, that if anyone was going to give him religious leanings it was a Holmes.

Let’s be honest, he added, if anyone was going to be God it would be Mycroft Holmes.

“Yes,” He said out loud before he could regret it. Mycroft smiled a tight, thin-lipped smile; almost as if his face had forgotten how to smile genuinely without irony or mockery.

“I am glad,” He said sincerely – probably for the first time in their acquaintance. “And John? Good luck,” He added.

Before John could ask him what he meant by that Mycroft lifted one hand and snapped his fingers.

***

The second time John woke up after a fatal gunshot wound to find that he wasn’t actually dead he didn’t groan and turn his head away, still lethargic from the drugs and still half unconscious. Rather his eyes snapped open instantly and focused on the figure sat by his bedside. One thought passed through his mind as he gazed at the stunning, ethereal being that he somehow just knew was his best friend and flatmate.

_Holy shit it wasn’t a hallucination._

“John?” Sherlock’s voice resonated somehow on several different frequencies and suddenly John understood how Sherlock could be so hypnotising just through his voice. “Damn it Mycroft! I’m going to punch him in the face for this next time I see him,”

 

And that was the story of how John Watson became an Angel of the Lord (and official babysitter to the Lord’s bratty little brother).

 

**The End??**  



End file.
